


If It Feels Right Then It Can't Be Wrong

by Sunshine_Magnet



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Coach Ash, Cougars, F/M, Handyman Luke, Hot Tub, Mrs. All American, Smut, Still not over this, That means married, babysitter Cal, fancy footwork, gamer Mikey, washing machine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:58:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2455643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshine_Magnet/pseuds/Sunshine_Magnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys have fun with some cougars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hearing Mrs. All American for the first, second - ok, lbr - EVERYTIME - did things to us. Naturally, we had to write a fic to go with the song.
> 
> **We've had a request to add in Calum & Michael, so there will be 2 additional chapters soon**

_**Delia** _

Delia stretches in the early morning light, limbs spreading across her queen sized mattress, luxuriating in the free space that comes with no longer sharing a bed. The light filtering through the gauzy, white panels covering her windows is bright and warm. Birds are chirping cheerily, and the scent of fresh cut grass tickles her nose. It's the first morning she's woken up in a good mood since her husband walked out on her a month ago. She's finally come to terms with it. Right then and there, she decides there will be no more moping, no more tears, no more wasted time. 

"Fuck him. Fuck his selfish ass. And fuck his fucking secretary that he's probably fucking." 

With that resolved in her mind, Delia climbs out of bed, grabs some clothes, and heads to her bathroom to shower. She has to get ready for her day, get her son up and moving, get breakfast made, and get him to soccer camp. Normally such a thing would fall to her husband, the sports fanatic, but the asshole decided he needed a vacation the one week of the summer their son would need him every morning. _Fine. Whatever._ She knows next to nothing about soccer, but she'll take her Kindle and soak up a little sun. Thankfully, her floral shop is finally operating in the black and won’t suffer if she doesn’t open until after lunch this week. _Fucking asshole-soon-to-be-ex._

Two hours later, she's dressed in cute shorts and a wife beater, her thick, auburn hair is up in a messy bun, and her aviators are sliding down her nose as she stuffs a huge bag of God knows what in the back of her Nissan Juke. "Alright, kid, get in and buckle up. Let's get you to this soccer thing. Shit. I forgot my Kindle. I'll be right back." Her short term memory is sketchy at best.

Delia slams the trunk gate shut and rushes back into the house for the oh-so-necessary accessory. Her son, Jackson, does not follow instructions and is acting like a ninja when she comes back outside. "Jax, I swear to the heavens above, you better get in this car. We're gonna be late." As irritating as being late can be, she has to admit her son is pretty cute fighting off invisible forces in his soccer gear.

The ride to the soccer fields is just long enough to listen to Jax's favorite song "Wiggle Wiggle" four times and have him ask "Are we there yet?" five times. Delia's about ready to pull her hair out by the time she puts her SUV into park. 

"Jax! My man! Let's go!"

Delia gets out of the car in time to see a young man run by, curls held in place by a bandana, legs showcased in soccer shorts. He has a nice ass, she can’t help but notice as he jogs by, but looks way too young.

Maybe soccer camp won’t be so boring after all.

With a pleading look, Jax begs to hit the field. Delia nods and he takes off, leaving her to manage his big bag of gear alone. "I don't see why we had to bring all this shit," she mutters as she wrestles the bag out of her hatch. 

"Here, let me help you." Suddenly the bag is lifted from her hand by another man, a younger man, dressed like the other coach. "I'm Cal. Coach Cal." His smile lights up his face, and Delia smiles back.

"Hi, Cal. Um, thanks." She can count on one hand the nice gestures performed by someone with a penis as of late; she's not going to look this gift horse in the mouth and will gladly let Coach Cal help her with Jackson's bag. 

She's also going to enjoy the view. Coach Cal is muscled in all the right places, and she notices a trace of ink on his forearm. She has a weakness for good tattoos. She grabs her folding chair and follows him to the practice field.

Soccer has always baffled her; people running around, kicking a ball; whistles blowing when the ref deems necessary. She gets the point - score a goal. Everything else is Greek. She finds a spot to set up her chair, waving to the parents she knows, smiling at the ones she doesn’t. While her Kindle is powering on, Delia keeps one eye on her son. Her other eye is trained on the two soccer coaches barking orders.

Coach Cal's bandana wearing partner, she's learned, is Coach Ash. They run up and down the field with the kids, encouraging, teaching, correcting when necessary, and it may be the best thing since sliced bread. All those long, lean muscles bunching, stretching, straining…. Delia finally pulls her eyes away to open her book file, feeling a little more eager than usual to immerse herself in some good smut. 

A whistle blows, jerking her out of the heroine’s bedroom at the most inopportune time. Delia looks up, curious. The kids are grouped around a Gatorade cooler, taking a short break. Ash and Cal are talking quietly and looking her way, their eyes traveling over every visible inch, lingering on her chest and legs. _Oh. Okay._ Her crossed legs tighten, the mild arousal caused by her book intensifying at their attention. 

Ash notices her attention has shifted from her book and grins, elbowing Cal. His smile is infectious, so wide and carefree that she can’t help but return it. A blush stains her cheeks, and a warmth fills her. _Whoops. Nope. They’re definitely too young._

“Hey, mom! How’m I doing?” Jax yells at her through the fence, shifting her focus yet again. _Thank you, Jax._

“Great, kiddo!” Delia gives him a wide grin and a thumbs up before he jogs back onto the field for the next round of practice. She buries her nose back in her book, trying to focus on the story and failing. Every few minutes, her eyes wander over the field and over the coaches' lithe forms.

_Asshole, you may’ve annoyed me by leaving me to be soccer mom for the week, but I think I’ll be thanking you. And leaving you to wonder why._ Delia's internal diatribe aimed at her husband is rather cathartic.

A ringing cellphone sounds loud beside her, making her jump. The ID on the screen lets her know it’s her best friend, Finley. “I was going to be calling you in a bit. Hey!”

A thoroughly frazzled-sounding Finley replies, “Dee! Thank God you answered. Please tell me you know a handyman. I’ve had little things breaking left and right, and I can’t take anymore. My kitchen faucet handle just broke. I need help!”

Delia tuts sympathetically, knowing Fin is at her wits end. Their situations are similar, both husbands having left them with no warning, within a week of each other. If they didn't know better, they might have thought they ran off with each other. Jerks. “Of course it all happens after the asshat leaves. I can’t think of anyone right off hand, but I’ll ask around. Maybe one of the parents here knows someone, or hmmm maybe one of these fine as hell coaches does.”

“Oh? Excuse me? Fine as hell coaches?” 

“And _that_ , my friend, is why I was going to call you. Yes. Young, but holy _HELL_ , Fin. And so good with the kids!” As if on cue, she finds Jax in the middle of the field giving Coach Ash a high five. "Maybe they're so good with the kids because they _are_ kids," she sighs.

"Dee. How old are we talking here? Do I need to get bail money ready?" Finley giggles nervously.

"Lord, no. Let's just put them somewhere between high school and college," she sighs embarrassed for even thinking of the two coaches like this.

"Delia! Can they buy alcohol? This is important. Oh my God, you're gonna be a sugar mama, aren't you? Are they closer to Jackson's age or yours? And don't lie," Finley teases.

Delia does some quick mental math then refuses to answer the question. They are definitely closer to Jackson's age than her own.

"Alright then. How about I let you go, so you can find me a handyman and I'm going to the gym so I don't break anything else in the damn house. Call me later."

When the parents gather at the fence for high fives and Gatorade, she finds herself talking to one of the other moms. "Which one's yours?"

"Oh, I have two. Harry's over there," she says, pointing to one of the little boys standing next to Jax, "and Ashton is my other one. Coach Ash," she yells, waving and getting her son's attention. "I'm Anne Marie."

_Shit._ "I'm Delia. Jax is mine," she points, ignoring the fact that Coach Ash is jogging towards them. "Nice to meet you."

"Oh, we know Jackson," she smiles warmly. "He's played at our house a few times. I normally see dad at the practices, though."

Delia nods. "Yeah, um, Jax's dad is the athlete. He went on vacation with his new girlfriend this week, which leaves me on soccer duty." She tries to be as flippant as she can, hiding the hurt, remembering that she wasn't going to let the dreaded ex steal another moment of joy.

"Hey mum," Ash says, wiping his forehead and giving his mom a hug. "Hi Jax's mom," he smiles and all Delia sees is dimples.

"This is Delia, Ashton," his mom introduces. He smiles and raises an eyebrow at her.

_This is so fucked up._

"Nice to meet you, Ashton." 

"Likewise."

She swears he winked at her. _In front of his mother._ She tries to play it off, failing when she feels her cheeks warming. "So, Anne Marie," Delia says, trying to redirect the conversation. "You wouldn't happen to know a handyman around here, would you? I've got a friend who needs some minor repairs done at her house."

"I've actually got a friend who's doing that this summer, working with his brothers and their company. Want his number?" Ashton answers, eyes bright, smiling widely.

_He's so cute._

"Oh, Luke? Yes, give Delia his number. We've known their family forever. The boys are all hard workers," Anne Marie nods. "Good call, Ash. I'll let you two talk, I'm going to go check on Harry."

"You know," Ashton says, pulling his iPhone from his pocket. "I pictured this going a bit differently." He swipes at the screen.

Delia arches an eyebrow. "Oh really? What did you picture?"

Ashton laughs and Delia wills her legs not to falter. "For one, I didn't think my mom would introduce us. And then, I didn't think I'd be giving you my friend's number," he mutters.

Green eyes. Dimples. Curls. Delia's brain is struggling to compute anything Ashton says. "Wait. What?"

Ash purses his lips and she's lost, again. "Give me your phone." She nods, pulling her iPhone out of her back pocket and giving it to Ashton. "Nice screensaver." 

"Disney World last summer with Jax," she explains dumbly, since both of them are wearing Mickey Mouse ears and they're standing in front of the giant castle. 

"My friend is Luke. I just added him to your contacts," he explains, showing her the new entry on her phone.

"Thanks. My friend thanks you," she smiles, trying to regain her conversation skills. She inhales sharply. "Um, would you mind giving me your number, too? I mean, I'm new to this whole soccer thing, and if Jax has questions, I want to be able to answer them without turning to google." 

"Sure," he grins, taking her phone again. "I just texted my phone from yours. So now we have each other's number. Who knows, I may have some questions, too, later." 

The look on Ashton's face can only be described as mischievous. "Something tells me we aren't still talking about soccer," she says.

"Definitely not. See ya later, Delia." He waves and heads back over to the crowd of boys.

Delia is decidedly not paying attention when she forwards the handyman's number to Finley. Her son's voice rises above the others.

"Mom! Mom! Can you help me practice my PK's when we get home?" Jax is bouncing on his little legs, juice box in hand. "Coach Cal says I have a great foot for PK's! I don't know what that is, but can we do that later?"

She ruffles his hair and gives him an adoring smile. "Of course, baby! As soon as I get off work and pick you up from Nana's, okay?" Outwardly laughing at Jackson's fist pump, inwardly sighing at his request, she pulls out her phone to use the number given to her not five minutes ago.

**Delia: What the hell is a PK?**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mommy! Mommy! Watch!"

"Did you see? Coach Ash is so good!"

"Mommy! Look!"

Delia sits, waves, and smiles from her porch swing, sipping some good ol' Southern sweet tea (spiked with vodka). For the last sixty minutes, she has done nothing but watch Jax run around the yard and chase his soccer ball.

For the last sixty minutes, she has tried with all of her might to ignore the tanned, muscled, and _Christ, he's good-looking_ Coach Ashton, unsure if he's chasing her son or being chased. As she sat Jax's plate in front of him for supper, she’d texted Ashton, giving him her address and the invitation to come over.

His timing was impeccable, arriving just as she'd finished washing up.

She's realized tonight watching him coach her son in her backyard, soccer really is a sport all about timing...she wonders briefly if his timing is as practiced in other areas.

Like her bedroom.

She chases that thought with another sip of her spiked iced tea as quickly as she can. No need to go down that particular road.

Yet.

As if on cue, Ashton turns around and smiles, dimples flashing. "Dee, why don't you join us? Let's see who can make the most penalty kicks!" He points at the small soccer goal set up in her yard.

"Yes! Mommy! Yes! Please? Come on!" Jax jumps up and down and Delia shakes her head, laughing. 

"Jax, why don't you and Coach Ash have the contest without me. I'm afraid your old mom has two left feet," she says, kicking her feet from her swing for emphasis.

Ash jogs up the porch steps, stopping behind her swing, holding it still. "For one thing, you aren't old. I guarantee you could probably run circles around most of the other moms at the soccer camp." Delia sits up, the low tenor of Ashton's voice giving her goosebumps. He leans closer to her and she shivers when she feels his breath on her neck. "And another thing, you may think you have two left feet, but they are attached to some very nice legs. Now. Get out there and play with us."

She feels his fingertips brush her shoulder as he releases the swing and she tries to hide the shock on her face.

Earlier in the day, she thought he was flirting and dismissed it. He's a boy, for God's sake. 

But now? Well. She's certain he's flirting. And she has to admit, she doesn't half-mind.

She pads barefoot across the grass, hands on her hips, listening to Ashton give Jax some more pointers. She tries to listen, hoping she'll just understand the game of soccer if she tries hard enough, but to no avail. She's stuck staring at Ashton's dimples and his legs.

"Alright, Jackson, if you win the contest, you can be my special helper at camp tomorrow," Ashton says, ruffling Jax's hair. "And if your mom wins," he says, turning towards Delia with a smirk on his face.

_Shit._

"You have to give her a foot massage!" Jax dissolves into giggles and Delia claps a hand over her mouth.

"Jackson! What?" She looks at her son, having one of those moments where she wonders where in the world he comes up with these ideas. She faces Ashton. "Um, no. You do not have to give me a foot massage if I win."

Ashton chuckles and shakes his head. "Oh no. I won't back out of the bet. Jax, my man, what happens if I win?"

Delia holds her breath. Ashton's braver than she was willing to give him credit for if he's going to throw caution to her son. 

Jax purses his lips and rubs his chin, making Delia laugh. "If you win, Coach Ash, then my mommy has to bake you her lasagna. It's so yummy," he says, patting his stomach for extra effect.

"Sounds like a deal. Let's play!" Ashton kicks the ball forward, Jax in full pursuit, and Delia wondering just who she wants to win this little game.

Umpteen kicks later, they've lost count and collectively decided that Jackson is the big winner of the evening and can be Coach's special helper at camp tomorrow. He hugs Delia, smelling of summer, sweat and grass, before she whispers in his ear that it's time to get ready for bed. A bath this late is pointless, he'd be asleep before she could even get the water warm.

"Thanks for having me over tonight," Ashton says, sitting down on the porch to remove his soccer cleats and exchange them for some flip flops he pulls out of his backpack.

"No, thank you. I am clueless when it comes to soccer, and Jax just loves it. I guess I need to learn more about it," she shrugs, taking a seat next to him. "Until recently, sports weren't my category. I was in charge of things like play dates and the PTA." She tucks a strand of errant hair behind her ear.

"My mom was in charge of everything, too. She still is," he chuckles quietly. "I can teach you soccer, but it'll cost you," he teases.

"Oh really?" Delia answers before her brain has a chance to yell at her to run. 

"You and I both know who really won the contest. You owe me some of this lasagna Jax was talking about." Ashton raises an eyebrow, as if to challenge her. 

She thinks back to their soccer contest, all of them kicking the ball toward the goal. She counts quickly. "Hate to disappoint you there, stud, but I think I actually won. I made one more shot than you when you let me have the final kick."

Ashton leans back, laughing. "Oh, so I owe you a foot rub? Let me see," he leans forward, inspecting her bare feet. "I guess they're nice enough."

She smacks him on the arm. "Hey now! I have perfectly symmetrical feet and my toes are always manicured." She crosses her arms in front of her and huffs.

Ashton stares at her, his gaze trailing to her chest, her skin warming immediately. "Mmm hmm," he nods. "I'll tell you what. Since no one can validate your claim that you actually won, let's call it a draw. Everybody wins," he says diplomatically.

Delia giggles. "Perfect. Sounds good to me."

Ashton stands up, reaching for her hand and pulling her to her feet easily. Delia's eyes widen in surprise. "Sounds good to me, too. When should I come over for dinner and deliver my foot rub?"

"But, I mean, I thought you meant a draw meant we were even and we weren't collecting?" She sputters, stutters, spits out her thoughts rapid fire. 

Ash takes a step closer, his feet on the ground and hers on the top step. She's just a fraction of an inch taller than him from her vantage point. He puts one hand on her hip tentatively. She bites her lip and he pulls her just a little bit closer. "Oh, we are most definitely collecting. You have until tomorrow to tell me the time and place."

"Or what?" Delia attempts to challenge him, her voice only a whisper. Her body is rigid under his touch, her nerves frayed, afraid if he moves even a millimeter closer, she's going to be charged with public indecency.

"Or I'll fill Jax's head with soccer lingo and it will drive you mad and you'll ask me to come over, anyway. It's a win win in my book," he winks at her, stooping down to pick up his backpack. He leans into her neck. "Sweet dreams, Delia." His breath is like fire on her neck, his lips threatening to blister her skin when he places a soft kiss at the top of her shoulder. "See you tomorrow."

It's long after the tail lights fade into the distance before Delia commands herself to go inside and check on her son. As predicted, he's passed out, still wearing his play clothes, his soccer ball at the foot of his bed.

**Delia: Before I go to bed, I have to know. How old are you, exactly??**

**Ashton: I'm over 10 million minutes old. ;)**

_Twenty?? He's fucking twenty??_ Delia slides under the bubbles in her bathtub, hoping the water drowns out her frustrated scream.

If she didn't love her kindle so much, she would've thrown it against the wall. _Twenty?_

Delia scrolls through some panic-laden texts from Finley and giggles. Sounds like she has her hands full with Ashton's friend.

**Delia: Finley, we have a problem. A gigantic holy-shit-he's-only-fucking-20 problem.**

**Finley: You think that's bad? I'm not even sure boy-wonder handyman is legal to vote in this country. Thanks for sending him to me...**

**Finley: Oh, and he's coming back over tomorrow.**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you had told Delia a week ago that she would've enjoyed taking Jax to soccer camp, she would've laughed and said you were lying.

She sits on her couch, sipping a glass of red wine, the aroma of basil and fennel filling her home. She drinks a bit faster than she should, but figures a little liquid courage never hurt anyone. And Lord knows, she needs it.

Ashton is coming over.

Twenty-year old soccer coach Ashton. Is coming over. To her house. For dinner.

He'd been relentless all week, flirting shamelessly, lobbing innuendos her way at every opportunity. The whole week had been one moment of ridiculous followed by another.

Case in point.

**Delia: My son is standing in the backyard, cupping his junk, begging me to kick a soccer ball at him. You wouldn't have any idea where this idea came from, would you?**

**Ashton: LOL. Blocking shots is a very important skill, Delia.**

**Delia: I just can't do it. I start laughing every time. He looks so serious.**

**Ashton: Hey, now. Balls are no laughing matter.**

**Delia: He's 5. He barely has anything to worry about.**

**Ashton: Trust me. It's a very serious defensive strategy. I could show you, in detail....**

**Delia: I think I've got him distracted, thanks.**

After Friday's session and game, Delia deposited Jax at his dad's house, ignoring the asshole's suntan and kissing her son on the cheek.

"He had a great time at soccer camp this week. Thanks for signing him up," she speaks with what she hopes is a sincere tone.

"Yeah, Dad! Coach Ash and Coach Cal said I have the best feet ever! Coach Ash likes Mommy's feet, too," Jax bounces excitedly in the yard, babbling happily.

Delia burns under the pointed stare from her ex-husband. "Oh really?"

She shakes her head. "They had all the parents play today, that's all," she says, praying Jax doesn't mention anything _else_ he might've overheard. "Ok, baby, I'll see you Sunday."

**Delia: Jax just outed your affection for my feet to his dad.**

**Ashton: Good thing the kid can't read minds. I'm affected by much more than your feet.**

She pulls the lasagna out of the oven, setting it on the counter to cool while she preps a salad and bread. Her eyes roam around her kitchen and with nary a care, she reaches into her drawer for a lighter and lights two candles. She almosts laughs at how skittish she feels, waiting for Ashton to come over, waiting for him to sit across from her at the dinner table.

Waiting for him to make a move and take her to bed.

She knows he's going to. Hell, he's all but laid it out for her on the phone over the past week. She's not sure if its because she's been out of the singles game for so long, or Ashton's age, or _what_ , but he had no reservations letting her know exactly what he planned to do on their evening alone.

She may have screencapped it and burned the images into her memory.

**Lick**   
**Pinch**   
**Suck**   
**Ass**   
**Rub**   
**Cock**   
**Fuck**

For a guy that coaches soccer to little kids during the day, Ashton sure does have a filthy mouth at night. 

Coincidentally, the moon is full outside and Delia has her windows open, appreciating the warm night air. She flicks on her stereo, allowing the sounds of Marvin Gaye to surround her. She dances slowly around the kitchen, humming along.

"Well, if this isn't a sight." Her head snaps up at Ashton's voice; she finds him standing outside her kitchen window just off her patio where they sat just earlier this week. She giggles and motions him toward the door, opening it and allowing him inside. "Did you pick this song especially for me?" He winks at her and she giggles, feeling half her age, realizing how cliche' it must be for Ashton to walk in on her humming "Let's Get it On."

Delia shakes her head, trying to ignore the blush that she's certain has spread from her head to her feet. "My iPod is on random, I promise," she says, holding up her hand in a solemn gesture. "I hope you're hungry," she says, turning back around to her kitchen counter where the food is all situated. "In addition to all of this, I've also got cheesecake in the fridge for dessert."

When she turns back around to gauge Ashton's approval, she startles when she realizes he's only inches behind her. If she wasn't blushing before, she certainly is now, the heat radiating off of him in waves. She swallows her surprise and takes a baby step backwards, her butt meeting her countertop. Ashton smirks and boxes her in, his arms pressing into hers, his hands gripping the granite behind her. 

"I'm definitely hungry." To be polite, Ashton eyes the spread Delia's prepared and nods his head. "Is there anything that needs to be put up now?" She follows his gaze and shakes her head, words dying in her throat. "Good." Before she can blink, he's pressing his lips to hers roughly. It's hard and teeth and lips and tongue and _Goddammi_ , Delia is so turned on, she's almost trembling with want.

Ashton takes a step even closer to her, aligning his body to hers and she changes her mind.

This is definitely a _need_ , if the length pressing against her thigh is any indication. _Christ, it's been awhile_ , Delia thinks in a fog, her hips pushing forward without her consent.

"Dee," Ashton groans, his hips rocking backward. "Keep it up and we won't make it out of your kitchen."

"I don't care." Her voice sounds foreign to her ears, hungry and raspy. Her hands grab at his shirt, her leg hitching around his. "Ashton, I don't care," she says emphatically, raising up on her toes and pressing her mouth against his. 

Ash lifts his head some, using his height as an advantage, trying to slow her down. He chuckles when she groans, her fingers tightening on his shirt, her mouth latching on to a place on his neck. Delia bravely lets her hands wander, fingers tracing lean muscles before settling on his ass. She quirks an eyebrow at him in challenge. Ash rolls his neck slowly, trying to relieve some of the tension to no avail. He bends and lifts her ass, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist. "Where?"

Delia giggles and points vaguely behind him. At this point, she doesn't care where he takes her, as long as he does _something._

He finds her couch, a big L-shaped sectional and decides this is as good as any, setting her down and kneeling between her legs. She scoots to the side, pulling him on top of her and the feeling is delicious, the weight of him not too much but oh so right. Her fingers trace over his biceps, flexed as he supports his weight on either side of her head. The momentum shifts, she can feel it in the air, she can see it when Ashton smiles softly.

"Ash?" The question is only a whisper, she's too afraid to say anything else. 

"Delia, no. It's just," Ash sort of stutters, his cheeks turning pink. "I guess I just want this to be," he stammers, the blush adorable, his green eyes clear. "I know it won't be perfect, but I at least want it to be good."

Delia's eyes widen. "Ashton, please," she says, her quiet tone laced with one of disbelief. "You're thinking way too much. Stop." She runs a fingertip over his furrowed brow. "What happened to all those positively naughty things you were talking about earlier this week?" 

It's cute, she thinks, Ashton's sudden stage fright. She glides her hand down his side, over his torso, settling on his (very nice) ass. She squeezes gently, pulling him a bit closer. She smirks when she feels his (still hard) length on her thigh. Delia sits up a bit, all but rubbing her chest against his, a hand gripping his neck and pulling him close. "Or do you need me to tell you what to do here?"

Ashton groans above her, hips rutting into hers. Delia doesn't wait for his answer. "I know you've been thinking about fucking me all week," she purrs, her breath warm on his ear. "I've been waiting to get my hands on you, too." As she speaks, she allows her hands to trail over his clothes. "Off," she commands, pulling his shirt over his head. It's awkward, Ashton having to raise up, but Delia seizes the opportunity and pushes him back into the cushions, arranging them so she's straddling his lap. A finger trails down his chest as Ashton looks on, one-part amused, one-part horny as hell.

He reaches for the hem of Delia's shirt and she chuckles. "Not so fast, stud." She places his hand on her thigh. "You'll get your reward soon," she smirks, pressing her hips down _eversoslightly._ She takes a deep breath, channeling all of the heroine's she's ever read about in her trashy romance books. "Right now, though, I'm going to take mine."

Pheromones. She's being assaulted by pheromones. That's the only way to explain this _hunger_ inside of her, urging her to lean forward and lick a stripe down his chest. Pheromones can be the _only_ explanation for why she is tugging Ashton's shorts off and it _certainly_ is the only explanation for why she is scooting down the couch and taking his cock in her mouth.

Ashton arches his back and groans as Delia works her tongue over him, her hand reaching up and holding him at the base. She pulls off with a quiet pop. "You may want to watch this," she teases, still not really sure where all this _talk_ is coming from, but judging by the look on Ashton's face, she's not about to stop. She teases him a little, pressing a kiss at his slit, her tongue darting out to swipe the precome that's collected there. Delia takes him in as far as she can, pulling off slightly when he hits the back of her throat. She glances up and sure enough, Ashton is watching, one hand playing with one of his nipples and the other, reaching for her head. 

"Fuck," he moans, his voice low and raspy and the tone alone has Delia nearly squirming above him. The rush of power is undeniable; she has to admit, she kind of likes being in charge (at least for the moment). "Dee, _fuck,_ yes, _shit_ ," he babbles as she bobs her head at his guidance. Delia hums appreciatively; he really does have a nice cock and he's a bit bigger than her ex. She swirls her tongue around the sensitive skin and feels Ashton tug on her hair. She nods and increases her suction, her hand working what she can't fit in her mouth. She glances up at Ashton once more and he goes rigid, hips lifting up off the couch, come filling her mouth. She swallows quickly, not her usual move, but she soldiers through it and gives Ash a minute to come down. She sits back on her heels, watching him; he really is a mixture between adorable and _fucking sexy._

Delia smiles gently, trying to keep her embarrassment at bay. _I just gave a blow job to my son's soccer coach. I just gave a blow job to my son's **twenty year old** soccer coach._ Before she can say it again, Ashton is sitting up, reaching for her shirt and lifting it off.

"My turn."

Pushing her onto her back, he reverses their positions. He sucks, licks, nips each nipple, teasing them into aching peaks, before nibbling his way down her stomach, to the juncture of her thighs. His tongue and lips tease her clit; his fingers slip inside easily. She's so wet, so ready. A long, low moan escapes her at the intrusion. Hips arch, pants escape. Gripping his curls, she presses herself into his lips. He works her until she breaks, back arching, fingers clenching, walls pulsing around his fingers.

Three orgasms later (two for her and another for him), Delia and Ashton finally have their dinner. In her bed. Turns out, Ashton is quite proficient in a lot of areas. For example, in addition to reheating their dinner and not forgetting the cheesecake, he did follow through on his footrub promise. _God, he's good._

**Delia: So, Ashton's coming over again tonight for dinner. I think he may like my cooking.**

**Finley: I'd say, judging by your radio silence, he liked more than your cooking.**

**Delia: Shoosh, woman. Let me have my fun.**

**Finley: You will hear no protests from me. Now. I've got a handyman I need to find some chores for....**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Finley** _

 

**Delia: I found you a handyman. Here's his contact info. His name is Luke.**

**Finley: OMG thank you!! I'll call him right now.**

"Hemmings Construction."

"Um, hi. I got your number from a friend. I'm looking for a handyman?"

Within a few minutes, Finley has an appointment scheduled with Hemmings Construction for someone to come out to take mercy on her falling apart house.

The broken faucet handle is just the latest in a string of maladies. She's hoping they can also fix her washing machine (God, it makes an awful noise), and her garbage disposal has been on the fritz lately, too. She's never lived alone, at least not without a bonafide maintenance man at her disposal. 

_Fucking ex-husbands._

When her husband left six weeks ago, Finley wasn't really sure what she would do. She was hurt, scared, frustrated, and then mad. Lord, she was mad. 

"I'm just not happy here anymore."

"I found someone else that makes me happy."

"I've already rented an apartment."

All statements made by her ex on a Tuesday night, when really, all she wanted was another glass of wine. She didn't realize her life was going to change when she met him in the kitchen, searching for the corkscrew.

_Fucking ex._

Perhaps the worst part about being self-employed and working from home is the fact that she simply can't escape. Everywhere she looks, there is a memory of him. Every room she painstakingly decorated, all in an attempt to keep him happy, reminds her of what she thought were happy times. The pictures are all gone now, and she's taken her time converting all of the other rooms in the house to be more _her._

Today is not going to be another day where she wallows and packs boxes. No. Today, she is going to enjoy the sunny weather and go to the gym, work off a little steam then lounge around in the pool, working on her tan.

Until the faucet handle breaks.

God, it's frustrating to not know how to just fix things, she thinks. She's thankful for Delia coming through with a number. Now all she has to do is wait.

She dresses for the gym in yoga shorts with a tank top, her blonde hair in a high ponytail. She shuffles into the studio, finding a place near the wall of windows for her Dance Fusion class. She stretches a bit before the instructor arrives, loosening her limbs and bouncing nervously on her toes in the minutes before the class starts.

She pays no mind to the other women in the class, nor does she pay any mind to all of the other gym-goers, running on treadmills and lifting weights just feet beyond the studio.

They are half-way through their second song, "Problem" by Ariana Grande and Iggy Azalea when she does a sassy walk toward the windows, totally engrossed in the song. When she looks up, she notices a tall, _young_ , blond guy sitting on a weight bench with a barbell in his hand. She nearly misses her step, focused on his bicep and his blue eyes locked on her.

_Holy crap, is his lip pierced?_

She snaps back into the routine, booty shaking, her ponytail flipping with every move she makes. She _might_ have turned on the sass a bit more, encouraged now that she thinks she has an audience.

Halfway through the class, her instructor picks a song Finley knows features a lot of booty shaking -- "Shawty Got Moves" by Get Cool. It's a random song and she loves it, letting the rhythm flow through her body, executing all the moves perfectly. At the end, she walks to the window to drink from her water bottle.

He's still on the bench with the barbell, staring as he attempts to complete his circuit. She smirks at him and returns back to her class.

After the hour is up, she bounces out of the studio, sweaty yet energized. She spies the young blond cutie running on the treadmill, his head turning when she walks by.

Even the little bit of attention from a stranger at the gym puts a pep in her step. She's still got it. _Screw you, ex-husband._

At three pm, like promised but still unexpected, her doorbell rings. She hops out of the pool, wrapping herself in a fluffy blue beach towel and pads through the house to the front door. She didn't intend to be so underdressed for the handyman; time simply got away from her. Oh well.

With her luck, he'll be balding and sporting a plumber's crack, she snorts as she opens the front door. 

"Um, hello?"

It's a kid. A tall, blond, _cute_ kid. The _same_ tall, blond, cute kid from the gym, if she's not mistaken.

He's wearing jeans and a t-shirt, identifying himself as part of Hemmings Construction; his bicep is flexed as he holds up a tool box. "Hi. I'm Luke with Hemmings Construction. I'm here to see Finley?"

If he was any younger, she wonders if his voice would've cracked. 

"I'm Finley." She looks behind him, maybe searching for an adult or someone else who's actually going to be in charge, fixing everything broken in her house. "It's just you?"

She covers her mouth with her hand, the filter about ten seconds too late.

He laughs. "It's just me. Can I come in?"

Finley steps back, allowing him inside, gripping her towel a bit tighter around her breasts. _Shit. Is my air conditioning broken, too, now? Or is that just me?_

"I can hear it running, so I don't think it's broken," Luke says quietly, avoiding making eye contact.

Finley gasps when she realizes her inner monologue actually made an audible appearance. "Well, if you stick around for a bit, it might just break while you're here," she smiles, embarrassed at her gaffe, but figuring the kid's too young to think anything of it.

She leads him into her kitchen, gesturing at the sink. "So, here's the handle to my faucet," she hands him the shiny piece of metal. "And my disposal sounds like it's pissed off."

He chuckles. "Well, we don't need pissed off kitchen appliances. Let me take a look."

Luke gets to work, and Finley retreats to her poolside lounge chair, phone in hand. She drapes her towel over the chair and sneaks a glance back through the wall of windows. Luke is seemingly frozen in place, wrench in hand, bottom lip between his teeth, staring quite pointedly at her barely covered ass. _Oh. What did you get me into, Dee?_ She stretches out and fires off a long text, detailing how she saw a cute guy at the gym this morning who turned out to be the same handyman recommended by Dee’s hot coach.

**Finley: I don't know why we are friends. This boy is so hot, I'm sweating.**

**Delia: LOL! I’m in the same boat. Coach Ashton will be here after supper to help Jax. We’ll see how this goes….**

Two hours later, Finley wakes up after having dozed off. A quick lap around the pool clears her sleep fogged mind. She’s climbing up the stairs, wringing out her hair, when Luke walks outside. 

“I’ve got your…,” he trails off at the sight of Finley, standing in front of him, dripping everywhere, “...uh, your faucet is fixed, and I think the disposal is good, now. Is there anything else I can do for you?” His face turns bright red at the double entendre. 

_Oh God, how did I forget he’s here? Yes, there is something else you can do for me. Oh no. Don’t go there._ Finley turns to grab her towel, wrapping it tight, before answering. “Uh, my washing machine won’t spin. Know anything about that?”

Luke has a thumb hooked through a belt loop, his hip cocked, and his toolbox in hand. The look in his eyes is positively predatory. _God, he's so young..._

“Too young for what?” Luke asks and takes a step closer.

_Fuck!_ Finley winces, thinking quickly, her face heating up. She must be turning fifty shades of red right now. “Um," she clears her throat, "aren't you too young to be such an all around handyman?”

"I'm eighteen," he smirks, “and I’ve always been good with my hands. I’d be glad to take a look at it."

_Oh God. Dee, I may kill you. Or kiss you. But, God, he’s got to go. I can’t do this._ “How about tomorrow? You've already been here for so long, and I don’t want to keep you too late," she rambles. "Can you come around the same time? I’ll be at the gym in the morning.” _Working off a different frustration this time. I'm going to kill Delia._

“Tomorrow at three. Should be fine. Maybe I’ll see you at the gym, too. That was you, right? Dancing?” Luke asks awkwardly, sounding a little disappointed. 

“That was me. Dance Fusion is my outlet for any pent up frustrations. I love it.” Finley follows him into the house to the front door. She leans on the frame, watching his ass as he walks back to his truck. He sits the toolbox in the passenger floorboard, and catches her staring when he turns around. Finley is sure there’s extra swagger in his step as he walks around to climb in. He meets her gaze as he drives off and waves with a smirk and a wink. _Cheeky kid_ , Finley thinks. _I’m in trouble._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A loud sound startles Finley awake. The sheets are twisted around her legs, like she's been restless. Sweat is beaded across her forehead, and her chest is heaving. There's a dull throbbing between her legs, and she's frustrated. She realizes she just woke herself with her own moaning. 

_What the hell?_ Finley closes her eyes and breathes deep, attempting to calm her heart rate. Flashes of a dream that felt too real, yet not real enough, appear behind her eyelids. A long, lean body climbing over her. A pair of pink lips, pierced with a ring, feathering kisses up her torso. Soft, blond hair tickling her heated skin. Softer pink lips melting into hers. Her legs wrapping around a tautly muscled waist. A long, hard shaft grinding into her center. God. Tingles and fading pulses tell her she orgasmed, but the frustration she’s feeling tells her it wasn’t nearly enough. How long has it been since she felt such an immediate animal attraction to anyone? Longer than she’d care to think about.

Finley rolls over and punches her pillow. She wills herself to stop thinking about Handyman Luke so she can get a little more sleep before her alarm goes off in…. One eye cracks open to peer at the bedside clock. _Great. Less than two hours._ But an hour after that, she’ll be at the gym. And she’d bet her last dollar that Luke will be, too.

She falls asleep with a smile on her face.

When she wakes at the sound of her alarm, she lays in her bed for a few minutes trying to motivate herself out of the comfort her king sized, pillow top mattress provides. After fidgeting long enough, she's up, pulling on her gym clothes and brushing her teeth. Her hair is a mess thanks to the humidity, so she grabs a baseball cap, covering her curls.

Finley stretches by the wall of windows in the dance studio, one eye trained on the weight room, searching for Luke. When the music starts, she turns her attention to her instructor and the mirror, attempting to refocus.

It's fruitless. Every chance she gets, she's looking, scanning the benches and treadmills for the tall, blond handyman. They haven't even finished the warm up when she spots him, chatting up some other guys near the free weights. It's not long before he spots her and she's caught red-handed and red-faced. Everytime she finds him, his eyes are already trained on her - or a part of her - ass, tits, face, legs. Each look feels like a caress. It’s enough to bring last night’s dream (quite literally) flooding back. 

Dance Fusion is simply not doing it’s job today. If anything, the frustration is growing. Finley puts everything she’s got into each move, knowing Luke is watching. She feels like she’s dancing for him alone, like she’s taunting him, teasing him. 

Fancy by Iggy Azalea. All About That Bass by Meghan Trainor. Do What U Want by Lady Gaga. 

She's sweating and it's not just because of the sexy music. No, she's sweating because of the way Luke is staring at her.

When the class is over, she checks her phone. She has a message from an unknown number.

**Unknown: It's not nice to tease. This is Luke, btw.**

Her head snaps up, searching for him. He smirks and gives her a little wave. _Shit._ She drops the white towel in her hand to the ground and purses her lips.

**Finley: Tease? I'm just trying to get a nice cardio workout. How did you get my number?**

She watches as he reads his phone, holds her breath when she watches him compose a message back.

**Luke: My brother gave it to me with your address yesterday. I'd say your workout was nice, but it could've been better.**

Her eyes widen and she glances back to where he's standing, only feet away outside the studio. He winks at her and walks towards the steps that will take him to the locker room. She admires the view as he walks away, shaking her head to snap her out of staring.

**Finley: Could've been better? Tell me how I could've done better!**

She has to admit, she's a little annoyed. How dare he? 

**Luke: I'd rather show you. Three pm.**

Oh. Okay. 

Finley stumbles out of the studio in a daze, her body on auto-pilot, leading her down the stairs and to her SUV. Once home, she showers and makes herself presentable, one eye trained on the clock, watching the minutes tick by, one by one. She picks at her denim shorts, pulling on the fringe and trying not to make one of the frayed holes larger on her thigh. 

She fails.

She knows this, but can't be bothered to move from her couch, still staring at the numbers on the clock as they near three pm.

_Eighteen. He's only EIGHTEEN. I can't do this. But how can I not do this?_

She hears his truck pull up, the shadow crossing her front window. Two fifty-six. He's early. She waits, her patience shot, for him to ring the doorbell, the seconds passing like hours. The sing-song chime of her bell sends chills down her spine, ultimately propelling her to the front door.

He's dressed much like he was yesterday afternoon, black jeans and today, a cut-off t-shirt. Before she can form a greeting, Luke steps forward and pulls her forward to him, one hand wrapped around her neck, as the other holds her in place. He presses his lips to hers, kissing her soundly.

It’s so much better than her dream. She can’t help but melt into him as his tongue pushes between her lips, opening her to him. Her knees threaten to buckle, so she wraps her arms around his waist; her fingers grasp his shirt, trying to hold herself up.

The hand at her lower back inches lower, until Luke has a handful of ass, pressing her into him. Finley can feel his hard on pressing into her stomach. They’re molded to each other for what feels like hours before he pulls back, panting, leaving her dazed and reeling. “I need to fix your washing machine. If I don’t do it now, it won’t get done. You’re driving me crazy.”

“But… _God._ Okay. Yes. Let me show you where it is.” Finley is ready to scream. She’s been on edge for hours, hell, since the middle of the night, and he just _stops? To do his _job? How is he acting so damned responsibly?__

“It’s how I was raised,” Luke replies with a smirk. “And I just needed to give you a taste of ‘could’ve been better.’ You really need to work on that filter between your brain and your mouth... but not yet," he says, eyes raking over her from head to toe. He leans in close, his breath hot on her neck. "I think I want to hear what you say when I’m making you come.” 

Finley goes hot all over, a fiery red blush staining her skin. Her damned mouth. His damned mouth. _What even? I can’t think!_ Without another word, she leads him to her laundry room, making sure to put a little extra sway in her hips. If he’s going to make her wait, he’s going to get punished. “Here’s the beast. I’m going to cool off while you do that.” With a huff, she almost flounces away. 

Within five minutes, Finley is in her skimpiest string bikini, the one she only wears in the privacy of her own home. She grabs a fluffy towel, and stalks back to the laundry room. Using the excuse that she’s checking on Luke, she pops back into the room, giving him an eyeful of white strings and plenty of skin. His eyes widen, hilariously so, and he tosses down his tool and starts to stand. 

She holds out a hand to stop him. “No, no, don’t get up. I just wanted to check on you, see if you needed anything before I get wet.” Luke shakes his head mutely, his eyes drinking her in. “Okay, then, I’ll be in the pool if you need me.” She gives him a sly grin and sashays out the door. 

Despite her earlier cardio workout, Finley is rounding out another lap when she feels something skim against her leg. She sputters and stands quickly, calmed nerves immediately on edge again. A hand snakes around her waist in the second she takes to wipe water out of her eyes. 

"Dammit! Luke! You scared the shit out of me!" And then it hits her. He's in her pool. In his boxers. Gripping his shoulders, she stands on tiptoe, wraps her arms around his neck and fuses her mouth to his. His hands slide down to cup her ass, lifting her up. Her legs wrap around his waist, squeezing tight, giving her leverage to grind against his cock. 

The noise that comes from his throat is primal. His fingers dig into her cheeks, pressing her into him, as if he can't get close enough. Her fingers slip into his hair, scratching his scalp. He pulls his lips from hers to lick, suck, bite his way down to her collarbone. 

Luke turns, carrying her, and wades up the steps. She's too far gone to notice. Finley latches onto his neck, licks up to nibble on his ear, before realizing he's lowering her to the towel he apparently took the time to spread over her lounge chair. 

He kneels over her and unhooks her legs from his waist. Finley is too dazed to think straight. The friction from grinding against his cock has her at the edge of a cliff that she's desperate to leap from. "Luke, please," she whimpers. 

"Say it again," he growls, reaching for a string, untying each and every bow he can reach. When she's completely uncovered, he sits back and stares. 

"Luke. _Do something._ " Finley is nervous all of a sudden. It's been so long since she's been with anyone besides her husband. She starts to fidget with her bikini, tugging it haphazardly back into place. 

Luke grabs her hands, stilling her nervous movements. He situates himself at her feet, straddling the chair, and lifts her leg, pressing kisses, nipping lightly, down her calf to her thigh. He stops inches from her pussy and looks up into her face, the smirk playing at his pierced lip positively devilish. "No filter, remember?" 

As soon as Finley nods, his tongue flicks out, making contact with her clit. 

_"Fuck, Luke!"_ That's all it takes. She's falling over the edge with one touch from his not-a-dream, _Oh my God, this is real_ tongue. 

As soon as he hears her, he spears her with his tongue, lapping up the liquid, ramping up the intensity of her orgasm. He adds a long finger to her core, pumping in and out, her hips rising to meet him. She squirms under his touch, her skin turning pink. He sucks hard on her clit as her hips jerk, the sensations overwhelming. 

Finley claws at his shoulders, trying desperately to pull him up. "Luke. _Luke,_ ” she pleads. “I need to feel you, _please._ " 

He looks around her backyard, realizing that while they have some privacy provided by her tall, wooden fence, he'd rather take her inside away from any potential eavesdroppers. 

"C'mere," he rasps, kneeling back and pulling her into a sitting position. He stands and helps her to her feet, scooping her up as he held her earlier. "I have something I want to show you." 

Finley tilts her head, questioning. "You do?" 

Luke nods, biting his lip. "Yeah. Need to make sure your washing machine works right." 

She ignores the chill on her skin when they enter her air-conditioned house, pressing her hardened nipples into his chest. "I trust your work." She giggles. 

"So do I," he groans, setting her down on top of the machine. "Let's see what this thing can do." 

When he pushes some buttons behind her, bringing the machine to life, her eyes widen when the washer starts to hum underneath her. "Oh," she says, surprised. "Oh, okay." 

Her legs dangle off the edge as Luke pushes his wet boxer briefs down his legs. He leans in to give attention to her breasts. His hands cover her, kneading, pinching as his lips fuse with hers. She can taste herself on his tongue, and it spikes her need. 

Finley wraps her legs around the tautly muscled waist from her dream and slides herself to the edge of the machine, pushing her core into him, searching for the thing she's had on her mind since she met him. His cock lines up perfectly at her entrance. She chants, moaning, _"OhGodohfuckohshit,"_ when he pushes in, slowly filling her. Her hands immediately grip his ass, pushing him as deep as he can go. His hands move to her hips and a drawn out _"Fuck!"_ escapes him. 

Finley looks at the blissed out concentration on his face and rocks her hips slightly. He hisses and starts to move. Luke tries to keep a slow, even tempo, and _God, does it feel good,_ but her moans mingled with pants and _fucks_ are more than he can take. 

His hips start pistoning, slamming into her. The vibrations from the washing machine add extra stimulation, and another ache builds quickly. She scratches his back, fingernails digging in from shoulders to ass cheeks. Her head tilts back as Luke presses open mouth kisses down her neck. "Fuck," gasp, "Luke," pant, "faster," moan, " _yes!_ " 

Finley falls apart, her thighs squeezing his waist, her head thrashing, her fingers clenching. The feel of her walls clamping down around his dick is more than he can handle, and Luke gives in and lets go with a guttural groan. 

His head drops to her shoulder as his hips pump shallowly, waiting until the pulses have faded completely before pulling out. Finley stretches sinuously, giving Luke a sleepy, satiated smile. "Now that's what I'd call a thorough workout," he says, appraising her body with still hungry eyes and light touches. 

"I have to say you were right," she practically purrs. "You know, that was much better than my dream last night," she murmurs. 

Luke's eyebrows shoot up. "You dreamed about me last night?" The thought never occurred to him, despite the fact that he jerked off to the idea of her last night. 

And this morning. 

Finley nods, eyes closed. Luke chuckles. "Finley? Let's go to your room." He reaches for her hand, tugging her down, her body loose and nimble as she stands on shaky limbs. She gives him a smile, and he follows her naked backside into her bedroom. 

**Luke: Bro -- I'm calling in sick for work tomorrow. And for Friday.**

**Not Luke: What? Why? Does mom know you're sick?**

**Luke: I'm not sick and she definitely doesn't need to know. I think I'll be just fine by Monday.**

Luke chuckles as Finley pats the spot on the bed next to her. He climbs in and proceeds to make the most out of his newly acquired vacation days. 


	3. Chapter 3

_**Brynn** _

**Brynn: Bad news. I’m going to have to back out of Girls Night - my sitter just cancelled… unless I can bring Sadie over to play with the kids and Ash??**

**Anne Marie: Oh, no! Sorry, love. I had to send Harry and Lauren for sleepovers - Ash has a date (more about that later). Want me to see if Calum can babysit? If not, bring her over and we can just stay in...**

Brynn purses her lips, thinking. _Calum._ She mentally runs through all of Ashton's friends, remembering the dark-haired one with the goofy faces. She'd sat though a few band practices, sipping wine with Anne Marie, although it's been awhile since she's seen all the lads together. 

**Brynn: He babysits? Go ahead and ask him and let me know. I’m already dressed for a night out. Weren’t we going to try that new sushi place?**

Brynn sits at her dressing mirror, applying a coat of lip gloss and waiting for Anne Marie. She really does not want to cancel tonight’s plans; she _has_ to create new memories, _has_ to assign better things to this date, things that will override all of the things that make her sad.

It’s been two years, she thinks wistfully. Two years since cancer claimed the life of her husband. Two years since she held him and said goodbye, their daughter only partially understanding what was happening around her.

It’s been _two long years_ of raising their daughter alone. Sadie, now four, has her dad’s eyes, but everything else, including her prissy personality she inherited directly from Brynn. There are days when Brynn thinks Sadie gets it; understands that Daddy is in heaven and is an angel, but there are times when she hears Sadie playing with her dolls, talking about wishing she had a daddy.

Brynn would just settle for some male influence. No need to start searching for a daddy, she thinks with a bitter taste in her mouth. Before Brynn can go down that road, she pauses, closes her eyes and takes a deep, centering breath.

_“Live your life, not just for you, but for her, too. It’s okay to be an adult and do adult things without Sadie, but God, Brynn, don’t just sit at home, wondering where the time went.”_

It may be creepy to some, but when she focuses, she can hear his words and it always calms her when the thoughts begin to overwhelm her. She's mourned long enough; she's ready to get back out there.

**Anne Marie: Cal said he could come over. He's always so good with Harry and Lauren, and I trust him. I told him to be at your place by 8:30, so you can get over here. I may have someone I want you to meet…. ;)**

Brynn chuckles at her friend’s lame attempt to fix her up. Lord, it’s all her friends have been doing lately, pointing out men left and right who may or may not be worth Brynn’s time.

She’s had coffee with approximately five suitors lately and well -- they’ve all ended as soon as her mug was empty.

No refills, no thank you.

The accountant was way too boring. The lawyer was too loud and too old. She liked the med student, but his schedule gave her a headache. She also liked the guy that did finance for some big company, but when he tried to cop a feel under the table, she nearly kicked him. The last one she met, she doesn’t even remember what he did and it didn’t matter. 

He let her pay for not only her own drink, but his as well.

She’s all for empowerment and providing for herself (and Sadie), but come _on_. At least make an attempt. That’s all she wants.

Brynn takes one more glance at her appearance before deciding enough is enough. Little black dress with a flared skirt (thus hiding the extra pounds she’s put on in the last couple of years), black booties (hiding her toes that are in _desperate_ need of a pedicure), and bracelets stacked on her arm complete her look.

She walks down the hall to Sadie’s room, expecting to see her daughter playing (or possibly jumping on the bed). Instead, it gives Brynn pause to see Sadie cuddled up to one of her teddy bears - the one her dad won for her at a carnival and is literally four feet tall. 

She’s asleep.

Brynn scoops her up, depositing her on her bed and covering her up with her pink fluffy blanket. She hears a rap on the door and scoots out of her daughter’s room, closing the door behind her.

She pulls open her front door, totally expecting to see Ashton’s little friend, Calum - the one from band practice; the one whose bass guitar was about as big as he was the last time she saw him.

She is _not_ expecting to see a _man_ , a tall man, tall and dark and _shit_ , dimpled and muscled and -

“Um, Ms. Browne? Ms. Irwin sent me over,” he shuffles a bit on her front step, his cheeks pink. _Shit. Oh my God, he's staring at my legs._

Brynn recovers quickly. “Of course. Hi Calum, come on in,” she gestures, stepping back a bit. “Took me a second to recognize you. You’ve um, grown quite a bit since I last saw you,” she blushes, realizing how _terrible_ that must sound. “I mean, of course you have. You’re older, and taller, and,” she shakes her head and takes another step back. “You know what? I’m going to stop now. Call me Brynn.” She knows she has to be blushing from head to toe at this point, _Lord_ , she is so embarrassed.

“Um, sure," he says with an eyebrow raised. "Ok, Brynn,” he says pointedly, kind of enjoying watching her ramble. “Where’s Princess Sadie? I haven’t seen her since she was a baby,” Calum asks, a small smile on his face as he looks around her living room. 

Brynn points down the hall. “She’s already asleep. Once she’s out, she’ll be out for the night. So, I guess I’m just paying you to hang out in my house and eat my food,” she laughs. “If you could keep the party to under 50 people, that’d be great,” she teases, just as she does with every other babysitter she’s had in her home (which, admittedly, isn’t that many, but sometimes she does have dinners to attend without sweet Sadie). 

Calum looks shocked. "What? Oh, you're joking, ok," he says with a loud exhale. “I only invited twenty people over, so that’s good. Thanks,” he nods again, trying not to laugh. “No, I do have some studying to do, so I brought my books and my laptop. I have a paper due next week.”

Brynn nods thoughtfully. “Of course, that’s fine. You can set up in here, or the kitchen, or my office if you want. Wherever you’re comfortable,” she shrugs, recognizing that she’s rambling. Again. “Okay. I’ve left some cash on the kitchen counter with all the emergency information you might need for tonight, but I’m serious, I doubt she’ll even move before I get home.”

“It’s no problem, Ms. B - _Brynn_ ,” he corrects himself. “I babysit Harry and Lauren all the time. I can handle her.” Calum smiles and Brynn has to back up against the wall to stay upright; his dimples wreaking havoc on her. She straightens up quickly, ignoring Calum’s arched eyebrow and puzzled look as she turns to go into the kitchen, collecting her handbag and keys. She grabs a Post-it note and scribbles on it, peeling it off the notepad and sticking it on her finger. 

“Here’s my cell. Can you check in with me in just a little bit? Let me know she hasn’t moved and is still breathing?” Brynn swallows the minor panic that always invades her when leaving Sadie, especially with someone new.

Calum takes the sticky note from her and nods, leaning on her kitchen counter. “I promise.” He smiles again and Brynn briefly wonders if she has enough time to go change panties. She checks the clock on her microwave and _no_ , she does not have enough time. “Have fun tonight with Ms. Irwin.” Calum waves awkwardly as Brynn starts out the door. “See you later, Brynn.” Calum’s voice is deeper, lower, _fuck_ , when he says her name and Brynn struggles unlocking her car door before shaking her head and clearing her mind. She giggles at herself, at how silly she’s acting all because of the way Calum said her name, for Christ’s sake (okay, and how he looked like sex on legs, and maybe how he filled out that tight henley he’s wearing - _she saw those biceps_ \- and that dimple, and the way he pushed his tongue behind his teeth when he smiled and -)

Brynn’s phone buzzes.

**Unknown: The Princess is still asleep. ~calum**  
 **{picture attached}**

Brynn looks up from her car and smiles; it widens when she sees Cal standing at her front window with his phone in one hand and his other hand in his jeans pocket. She saves his contact information in her phone before putting the car in reverse.

**Calum: You’re going to be late, aren’t you? :) She’ll be fine, I promise.**

Brynn blushes.

**Brynn: I’m going! I won’t be late and I know you’ll both be fine. Thank you again.**

When she checks her phone after pulling into Anne Marie’s, her smile threatens to split her face.

**Calum: You’re the one who will be fine. Have fun tonight and if not, there will be a party here waiting for you. 20 people, tops.**

“You’re blushing.”

“I was hurrying,” Brynn rolls her eyes and pushes past her friend. “I’m also thirsty.”

Anne Marie hands her a glass of wine. “Drink up. We have a cab coming for us and he should be here any minute.” Brynn sips the wine, allowing the bold palette to invade her senses. Anne Marie eyes Brynn carefully. “I’m going to let you finish that wine before you tell me what has you all flushed.” She raises her eyebrow pointedly and Brynn knows - Anne Marie _knows_.

“I told you, I was in a hurry.”

“You’ve also not put your phone back in your purse and it looks like your fingers are turning white. So, either you’re worried about Sadie, which I don’t think you are,” Anne Marie says, a hint of teasing in her tone, “Or maybe someone has you all worked up? Maybe your new babysitter?”

“Goddammit, Anne Marie. He’s a kid. He’s one of Ashton’s friends. Shut _up_ ,” Brynn whispers, staring into her empty goblet. “I’m not worked up. I’m fine.”

She drops the glass when her phone buzzes in her hand. “Fuck!” She jumps back, glass pieces falling around her feet. “I’m so sorry, Anne Marie. Let me clean it up.”

Anne Marie stands there and when Brynn slows down long enough to make eye contact, she laughs. Loudly. “Oh my God, Brynn, you’ve got to settle down. You’re a damn mess right now!” She claps her hands, the glee evident on her face. It’s been so long since she’s seen any real emotion from Brynn; the fact that Calum _might_ be the one who’s caused this ball of blonde chaos in her kitchen kind of gives her some hope. “Look, I’m not touching the age thing but I’ll say this. I’ve had to adjust to Ashton dating a woman quite a bit older than him. He’s old enough to make that decision, so fine.” She steps closer to Brynn, stilling her hands. “I’m not saying anything at all, except if you don’t relax, I’m afraid you may have a stroke." Anne Marie holds onto Brynn for a few seconds until she feels the tension release. "And I _may_ have it on good authority that Cal jumped at the chance to come over for you tonight."

Brynn nods, taking a step back from her friend and reaching for her phone. "You've got to stop," she warns.

**Calum: She moved. Want me to put her back in bed? Or is she okay with the bear?**  
 **{picture attached}**

Sadie is snuggled back up with her giant teddy bear in the corner of her bedroom. Brynn turns the phone to face Anne Marie, showing her the picture.

“Aww,” she coos. She levels Brynn with a look. “He’s voluntarily sending you pictures?”

Brynn nods. Anne Marie shakes her head and chuckles.

“Maybe I’ve been doing it wrong all these years,” she says to no one in particular. “Maybe I need to find a younger man.” She pulls Brynn toward the door and pushes her into the cab. “Maybe you can help me find one tonight,” she laughs as she gives the driver their dinner destination.

**Brynn: She’ll be fine with the bear until I get home. How’s the paper coming?**

**Calum: I figured she’d be okay for a bit. It’s kind of hard to write with 18 friends here, hanging out. We’ve gone through all the booze. Hope that’s ok.**

**Brynn: No worries. Should I stop and bring more home?**

**Calum: Whatever you’d like is fine with me. :)**

She can hardly focus on her friend over dinner. Her brain is scattered. _She's flirting. With a boy. On her phone._ What should’ve been a night to get out, to reflect on what used to be and dream about what could be in the future has turned into a waiting game as she counts the moments before Calum texts her again.

Anne Marie’s being a good sport, chuckling every time Brynn checks her phone. “You know, you could just set it right here on the table in front of you, so we can both see when he texts you,” she chides. 

Brynn rolls her eyes and does as she’s told. “There. That better?”

**Calum: Someone’s awake!!!**  
 **{Picture attached}**

“Shit,” Brynn whispers, Sadie’s tear-streaked face causing her to pout. She shows it quickly to Anne Marie and calls Calum.

“Hey Ms. B- Brynn,” Cal corrects himself, Sadie crying in the background. “Sadie, it's your mommy on the phone. Do you want to talk to her?”

_Without me even saying anything_ , she thinks. She’s not sure if Sadie’s listening, but she talks to her daughter anyway, apologizing for not telling her that Mr. Calum was going to come over instead of Ms. Amelia for a little bit to watch her, but she’ll be home right away. Sadie’s crying is quieter by the time Brynn is done speaking; she figures her Mother of the Year trophy must be on its way to her home for the amazing parenting job she’s done tonight.

“You know what? Let’s try this again later. Go home. Go be with your girl and we’ll do girls night another time. Take a cab and I’ll come get you tomorrow and bring you to your car, okay?” Anne Marie stands up, tossing some bills on the table. 

Brynn nods and rushes out front.

**Brynn: I’m so sorry. You must think I’m the worst mother ever.**

She rattles off her address and tries not to cry, herself. _Lord._

**Calum: You are not a bad mom. Sadie was just a little scared, but she’s fine now. No more tears. Look!**  
 **{Picture attached}**

The selfie of Cal snuggling with a tear-stained but smiling Sadie sends a warmth through her. 

**Calum: She’s going to join the party in the living room with me. Don’t be alarmed if she's dancing on the table when you get home. ;)**

Brynn watches out the window as the streets whiz-by, her emotions still all over the place as she pays the driver. She jogs down the sidewalk, and finally gets her key to work, letting herself in the front door.

_Let it go, let it go,_  
 _Can’t hold it back anymore_  
 _Let it go, let it go_  
 _Turn away and slam the door!_

Brynn freezes when she hears the music; she clamps a hand over her mouth when she hears Sadie’s high-pitched voice singing the words to her _favorite song on earth_. She stifles a laugh when she realizes Calum is singing with her.

It might be the cutest thing she’s ever seen.

Calum is sitting on the couch while Sadie stands on the coffee table, holding a broomstick as her microphone. Cal turns when he hears the door close and gives Brynn a thumbs up. She applauds when the song is over and Sadie comes running.

After hugs and kisses and more cuddles, Sadie is settled back down and asleep again. When she turns off the light in Sadie’s room and pulls the door to, Brynn holds on to the door frame and slips off her heeled booties. When she drops them on the ground and turns to go to the living room, she gasps, Calum’s presence on her couch startling her.

She’d almost forgotten he was there.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I should’ve paid you first so you could leave.” Brynn rushes past him back into the kitchen. She stops when she feels his hand wrap around her wrist.

“It’s fine. I, um,” he stalls, “Didn’t mind hanging out here tonight. I wanted to apologize - you didn’t need to rush home.” He drops her hand, but that doesn’t eliminate the tingling sensation.

“Calum, no. She was crying and I promised you she would stay asleep.” Brynn hands him a fistful of cash, not bothering to count it. She knows it’s way more than the going babysitting rate and frankly, she doesn’t care. “You’ve probably got friends to go hang out with tonight and an actual party to go to or a hot date or something. So go - enjoy your evening.”

He takes the money and stuffs it into his pocket. “No other hot dates," he chuckles, shaking his head. "I’m serious, Brynn. I didn’t mind it at all. I hope you’ll call me again if you need someone.” 

Brynn wonders if he worded that sentence that way on purpose. She finds herself hoping so.

The next morning, Brynn is cooking breakfast when she hears her phone, letting her know she has a text. It's not unusual for her day to start out with a message from Anne Marie, so she thinks nothing of it. A jolt shoots through her when she sees Calum's name.

**Calum: I hope the princess isn't too traumatized this morning :)**

_He's checking on her daughter?_ Brynn smiles, looking up when Sadie shuffles into the kitchen, half asleep. "Good morning, sleepyhead!"

She takes her time before texting back, willing her nerves to settle. After depositing Sadie in her booster seat with a sippy cup of milk and a pancake cut into bite size pieces, Brynn plates her own breakfast and takes a seat. 

**Brynn: Completely unfazed. She should remember you next time :)**

She hits send before she realizes what she wrote. _Next time? Shit! Shit shit shit!_

**Calum: Next time? I like the sound of that ;)**

Brynn blushes furiously, unsure if she should respond, but ultimately deciding against it. He may be the first guy to awaken her libido in the last two years, but she can't forget he's _young_. 

The day passes in a blur of blond pigtails and giggles, interrupted only when Anne Marie takes them to pick up her car. No more texts. Brynn begins to breathe easier by the end of the day. She's just put Sadie to bed and is about to take a shower when her phone goes off. Instantly, her nerves are on edge. It's Calum. 

It becomes a ritual over the next week. He texts her in the morning and evening, teasing, flirting, but genuinely sweet. The number of texts increases each day, the two of them actually getting to know each other. Brynn now knows for sure he's too young (18, ten years her junior), he's in a band (5 Seconds of Summer, with Ashton and a couple of friends from school, he's really excited about their upcoming gigs), he's really good at soccer (he helps Ash coach _kids, God help me_ ), loves pizza and video games (again, _too young_ ), and he is ready to be done with college, despite the fact he's just started.

She's told him the basics - he knows her age (and seems unfazed), he knows she works as a commercial real estate broker (specifically retail), and he steers clear of talk about her husband. She listens to terrible music and says she sings even worse, and her favorite food is macaroni and cheese, which she makes for Sadie at least once a week. 

By the time Friday evening comes around, Brynn is exhausted. Anne Marie organized a play date-slash- sleepover for Sadie and Lauren, giving Brynn a much-needed night off. The house is clean and quiet; Brynn opens a bottle of wine and pours herself a glass before settling down on her couch with a book.

It doesn't hold her attention, her thoughts drifting to her phone and the texts she's shared with Calum over the week. She hasn't heard from him tonight and figures he's out with his friends, being a _kid. Dammit._ She feels like a pervert, but she can't seem to forget the way he looked in that tight shirt the other night. Frustrated, she scrolls through her texts, rereading their conversations, giggling at how ridiculous the whole thing is.

It’s barely dark outside when she retreats to her bedroom, her bottle of wine almost gone now. She crawls into her bed, but not before locating her trusty vibrator- the only penis that's come anywhere near her in the last two years. She strips quickly, tossing her clothes on the floor, eager to give herself the release she's seeking. Normally, she watches a little porn on her phone to set her mood; tonight she just closes her eyes and thinks about Cal.

_He's so young, but, God, he's so hot. Lean muscles, that killer smile, his thick hair. His dark eyes and full lips. His ass and the way his thighs looked in those jeans._

She comes apart in record time. She lays in bed, flushed, heart racing. Her phone buzzes beside her and she jumps.

**Calum: Are you home?**

Brynn's fingers tremble.

**Brynn: Yeah, why?**

She tries to regulate her breathing as she waits for his reply.

**Calum: Can I come over? I have something I wanted to bring the princess.**

**Brynn: You can, but she's not home. She'll be back tomorrow if you want to see her.**

Her doorbell sounds not twenty seconds later, and Brynn shoots up in her bed, clutching her duvet. _Shit!_ She throws the covers back, grabbing her sweats and tank, pulling them on hastily as she tries not to trip. Her bra and panties stay on the floor; she grabs a hoodie off a chair and takes off down the hallway. 

Opening the door, she drinks in the sight of Calum on her doorstep, his basketball shorts and ratty t-shirt somehow still sexy as hell. “Hi!” Brynn gives him a bright smile. Too bright? Her hands immediately go to her hair, pulling it into a topknot. “Looks like you have an exciting Friday night planned,” she teases, desperately hoping he can’t tell she just got herself off to thoughts of him. “Come in, have a seat. Thirsty?” _God, Brynn, shut UP._

Calum follows her in, handing her a Frozen themed gift bag. “No plans tonight,” he says with a laugh. “I saw this, and it made me think of Sadie, so I thought I’d come by.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, I could use a drink.”

His voice is a little raspy. Brynn glances back, curious, and catches him staring at her ass. _Oh no._

“Mind if I use your restroom?”

Brynn waves him off, grateful for a short reprieve. Having him show up here, when she just finished…. She freezes mid-pour, remembering that her bedroom door is open. Walking out of her hall bath will give Calum a perfect line of sight into her bedroom. Her bra and panties are in plain sight. _So is her vibrator. Fuck!_ She scrambles out of the kitchen, hoping to get to the door before he exits. 

Rounding the corner of the hall, it is quite obvious she’s too late. Calum is standing stock still, staring into her room. Brynn takes a deep breath, cheeks burning, and walks past him as casually as she can manage, reaching for the doorknob, fully intending to close the door and pretend he didn’t see a thing. Before she can, he grabs her wrist, stalling her. 

“I didn't interrupt you when I texted you earlier, did I?” Calum croaks out.

Her whole body ignites. _Lord, if he only knew._ His eyes are still glued to the dildo on her bed. There is also a very noticeable bulge in his shorts. The grip on her wrist tightens. When she looks up, Brynn realizes his eyes are on her now. More specifically, on her visibly pebbled nipples. _Remember the bra next time, Brynn._ The air in the hallway is suddenly charged. Calum tugs on her arm, pulling her closer.

“What were you doing when I texted you?” he asks again in a quiet voice, his tone strained, his lips close to her ear.

Swallowing her nerves, she throws caution out the window. It’s been _so long_ since she’s felt so incredibly turned on. Turning to face him fully, Brynn tries for a sexy smirk. “I think it’s pretty obvious, no? Just spending some quality time alone," she pauses, inching closer to Calum in the hallway. She stands on her tiptoe, reaching his ear. "I was getting myself off, thinking about....” Her voice trails off, but her hand trails down his side, stopping at his hip. She‘s not quite brave enough for that admission. She takes a step back, intending to walk back to the living room.

Large hands settle on her waist, holding her still. She dares herself to meet his eyes when he speaks. “What? Thinking about what?" His fingers tighten on her waist and she realizes that, without a doubt, he's turned on. _By her._ She levels him with a look. 

"It was just some guy," she attempts flippantly. "Tall and dark and so handsome." Brynn allows herself to explore, her fingers tracing lightly over his t-shirt, settling somewhere on his lower back. She brings one hand up to slide up his arm, lazily tracing one of his tattoos. "I don't know him very well, but what I do know about him, I happen to like. A lot," she smirks. 

"And this," Cal struggles, eyes wider as her nails do _things_ to his arms. "This _guy_ ," he groans, hips rocking and searching for hers. "You got off thinking about him?" He swallows hard, ignoring the way his voice cracked on the last syllable.

"I did," Brynn whispers. "I'm kind of thinking about doing it again."

" _Fuck_ ," Cal rasps and Brynn smiles. 

"You wanna help?"

Cal groans, pulling her flush against him, his hands coming up to cradle her face. “Brynn.” 

_God, the way he says her name!_

“Can I kiss you? Please?” His voice is a strained whisper. 

Brynn nods, not trusting her voice, staring at his lips. Her eyes flutter closed as he leans in. Lips brush against lips, feather light. Her arms wrap around his waist of their own accord, and she moans, opening to him. 

Instead of rushing, heating things up too quickly, Calum takes his time, playing, teasing, instinctively giving her time to back away. Brynn isn’t one to change her mind once it’s made up, however. She leans back, takes his hand, and, keeping her eyes locked on his, walks backward, pulling him into her bedroom. 

“Are you sure?” Cal asks, trying hard to hold onto his control, desperately hoping she says yes. "You'll show me what you were doing earlier? When you were,” he gestures to her unmade bed. His voice is soft, deep, _so smooth_ ; it flows over her, through her, filling her with need. She nods her head without realizing she's even moving at all.

In answer, Brynn slips her hands under his t-shirt, skimming over his perfectly cut torso as she lifts it off. Her fingers trace his tattoos, her lips following close behind. “I’ve been thinking about you all week," he groans, closing his eyes and letting her take control.

Calum reaches behind him, feeling blindly for the door, closing it, leaving the room bathed in moonlight. Brynn reaches for his shorts, intending to push them down and follow them with her lips. A hand cups her chin, distracting her focus. His intense gaze captures hers. "Wait."

Brynn freezes, mortification threatening to sink in. She starts to back away when Calum grabs her hands. "No, don't stop, I mean," he stutters. "I just meant, I kind of want to," he stops. "I want to make you come."

Those words erase any concern she has about his age. No _boy_ would be that selfless. She gives herself over to him, her hands dropping to her sides in a sign of acquiescence. Cal pushes her hoodie off and mimics her earlier actions, his hands slipping under her thin tank. His large hands smooth over her heated skin as he lifts it, slowly baring her to his eyes. 

A flush tints her skin pink as her hands move to cover her breasts, a flash of nerves making her feel overly exposed. Calum catches her wrists, lowering her hands as he kneels in front of her. “Don’t.” He places light kisses on her stomach, over faint stretch marks leftover from her pregnancy, giving her something to focus on as he hooks fingers into her sweats to drag them down. Her fingers thread into his soft, thick hair as he lifts each foot, running a firm thumb down each arch, helping her step free.

Dark eyes trail up her body, taking in every detail. Brynn can almost physically feel every spot his eyes touch. The nerves disappear at the reverent look on his face. His hands follow the path his eyes took, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, up her thighs, lightly squeezing her ass, over her hip bones and ribs, and stopping at her breasts. The first brush of his thumbs on her nipples has her back arching, involuntarily pushing them into his hands. Cal keeps his touch light, teasing. 

He sits back, taking a deep breath. “Lay on the bed, Brynn.” His voice is hoarse. His hands are fisted, the only visible sign of his struggle for control. Her knees threaten to buckle at the care he’s taking. 

Brynn backs up until she hits the bed, watching as he stands and pushes his shorts down, taking his boxers with them. She scoots back to lean on her pillows, her eyes never leaving Cal’s hand, the way he softly trails his fingers over his length.

“I’ve tried to imagine you like this for years. I didn’t do you justice. You’re beautiful, Brynn.” 

_Years?_ Brynn is momentarily bewildered. _No. Ask later._

Holding a hand out, beckoning him to join her, she smiles softly, “Come show me.”

Calum needs no further encouragement. He climbs on the bed, picking up the vibrator, setting it on the bedside table, and smirking, “I don’t think you’ll need this anymore tonight.” 

Brynn giggles at his confidence. The hint of the cocky kid she remembers puts her even more at ease, oddly. This is new, a little weird, but strangely comfortable. Cal settles at her side, resting on an elbow, his leg hooking over hers. He cups her cheek, turning her into his kiss. He keeps things slow, but the heat growing in her center isn’t going to stand for it much longer. His lips move, leaving damp traces across her cheek, down her neck. His hand settles on her ribs, just under her breast. Needing more, Brynn moves his hand to cover it, a whimper escaping when he rolls her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Her hips jerk, the shock going straight to her core. 

Correctly interpreting her growing impatience, Cal moves and starts nipping, licking, sucking his way down her body. When he reaches the juncture of her thighs, he looks up, meeting her eyes. Deliberately holding her gaze, he dips his head and licks a wet stripe from her opening to her clit. Brynn’s heels dig in as she arches into his mouth; her fingers reach down to tangle in his hair, urging him on. His hands slide under her ass, lifting her for leverage. His lips, his tongue work her until she’s writhing against his mouth, her back arched off the bed, searching desperately for a release just out of reach. 

“Cal, please,” Brynn pants, whining, “please, I need you inside me, please….” The begging does nothing but spur him on. He latches onto her clit, sucking, tonguing, not letting up until he hears her break. 

The release that washes through her is not nearly enough. She digs fingers into his shoulders, doing her damnedest to haul him up. He complies, stretching his taut body over hers. He dives into her mouth, finally kissing her hard, his tongue sliding along hers the way his long, hard cock is sliding against her entrance. Her fingernails scratch over his back as he teases them both, not allowing himself to push inside just yet. 

Brynn pulls back from his lips, and nearly growls, “Cal, I swear to _God_ , if you don’t fuck me _right now_ ….”

He slows his hips, teasing more, as he grins at her. “What’ll you do, Brynn? Tell me….”

She mock-scowls at him. “You want to know?” She trails off on a moan, her mouth falling open, her eyes glazing, as he finally, _finally_ , pushes in. 

He fucks her slow, the same as he’s done since they started. Slow, deep thrusts have her whimpering, the sensations building, growing stronger each time he’s fully seated. His head is buried in the crook of her neck, lips nibbling on her collarbone, teeth scraping every time he pushes in.

Brynn is nearly sobbing with need when she begs, “Cal, I _need you to_ move faster. _**Fuck me.**_ ”

Calum’s control snaps. He reaches down, one arm at a time hooking behind her knees, lifting her legs, opening her wide. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, along with his grunts and her whines. He watches as Brynn squeezes her eyes shut, her head thrashing, her hips trying to move with his. He watches the expressions on her face, seeing the exact moment she falls over the edge, the erotic look of absolute ecstasy spurring him toward his own cliff. 

Brynn is hot, everything is electric, the explosions in her center radiate outward all the way to her fingertips. The contractions of her walls pull Cal deeper as he thrusts erratically, her clenching muscles finishing him off. 

He slows to a stop, and his chin drops to his chest as he works to get control of his breathing. Brynn combs her fingers through his hair, loving the soft silkiness of it. “Years, huh?” she hints, teasingly. 

Calum rolls onto his side, throwing a leg over hers when she turns to face him. He gives her a confused look. 

“You said you’d imagined me like this for years.” Brynn is genuinely curious. 

The confusion clears. “Oh, um, yeah…. I've kinda had a crush on you from the first time Ms. Irwin brought you out to hear us practice. I’ve kinda always had a thing for older women.” Cal grins at her sheepishly. 

"Is that so," Brynn says in a light tone, her fingers trailing from the tattooed letters on his collarbone down his chest. She leans up, her tongue following suit, nipping and licking over every freckle. She smirks when she finds him hard. "Let me reap the benefit of you being younger, hmm?" Without waiting for a response, Brynn takes him in her mouth, Calum's back arching off the bed as he reaches for her head. 

Despite the fact that it's been over two years since she's given a blowjob, Brynn feels a sense of pride moments later, listening to Cal come apart, his fingers gently guiding her movements until he's coming in her mouth. It's some time after that when she settles into his side, warm and tingly and _happy_. They talk about anything and nothing at all, covering things like Cal's affection for older women (he also admitted to watching MILF porn, but that's another story) and Brynn's sudden interest in pop-punk music. 

The smile doesn't leave her face for a while. Her friends may not understand, and they may make fun of her for seeing a younger man, but Brynn doesn't care. To her, Cal happened along at a time when she needed him most, and she's all too happy to enjoy the ride. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Emersyn**   
_But you can call her Emmy_

**Emmy: Please tell me you're going out tonight. I need to blow off some steam!!!**

**Brynn: As a matter of fact, I am....going to see some live music. You down?**

**Emmy: YES.**

It's been a shit week. First, her dog ate something funny and got sick, setting her back $643 at the emergency vet. Then, one of her closing managers at Grounds and Games quit on her, which meant late nights in addition to her already busy days. Then the shipment of the newest Prime Velocity Redux game - the one that had over 300 preorders from her two stores and had a waiting list - was damaged upon arrival.

If she has to refund one more person or listen to any further insults, she is going to scream.

She finishes her beer and reads a text from Brynn with the name of the bar she'll be at later. Emmy didn't know many people when she moved here from the west coast; the real estate broker who took mercy, showing her space after space for her coffee shop and video game store, turned into a friend- especially when she wanted to open her second location. Brynn came to her rescue a few times back then, and Emmy feels relieved she's doing it again.

She runs a flat iron over her bobbed black hair, the blue streaks standing out just a bit, just as she likes. The bar Brynn mentioned is kind of a dive, so Emmy dresses accordingly in a old Rolling Stones t-shirt, black mini skirt and her favorite motorcycle boots.

This, despite the fact that she doesn't own a motorcycle and she might be a little terrified of them.

She pulls up to Dino's, parking next to Brynn's SUV. She flashes her ID and starts to pay her cover when she hears Brynn.

"She's with us!" 

The bouncer nods and waves her into the dark bar. Brynn immediately envelops her in a hug and Emmy laughs- they are dressed alike, Brynn in a Nirvana t-shirt, jean skirt and black boots. "Sexy mama," she teases her friend.

"Oh God, shut up," Brynn giggles. "Come on, we have a table over here. Let me introduce you." Brynn links arms with Emmy and stops at a table with two other women. "This is Delia and Finley. Girls, this is Emmy, the one I was telling you about."

The women all exchange hello's and Emmy pulls a cold beer out of the iced bucket on the table. "So, who's the band? Anyone I know?"

Delia looks around and decides to answer. "They're called 5 Seconds of Summer. I'm kind of dating the drummer."

Finley smiles, twirling a strand of her hair. "I'm having a thing with the lead singer."

Emmy laughs. "Is this a set up?"

Brynn nods. "Well, maybe. They're all super nice guys, and I've kind of been seeing the bass guitarist..."

It takes Emmy a second to process Brynn's rushed words. "Brynn! You didn't tell me you'd been dating," Emmy chides her friend, suddenly curious. "Is there a fourth member of this band that's single?"

Finley laughs. "Something like that."

The ladies get to know each other and soon the band is on stage setting their instruments. _My God_ , they all look so young. She looks at Brynn with an eyebrow arched. "Are we going to be on an episode of Dateline's To Catch a Predator or something?"

Brynn shakes her head, her eyes never leaving the dark haired guitarist. "Nope. They're all legal." She giggles and takes a swig of her beer. "So, that's Calum," she points out subtly. 

"And how did you meet Calum? At the high school track meet or something?" Emmy teases.

"He babysat Sadie a few weeks ago. Long story, but..." She trails off when Calum stops and waves at her, motioning for her to come up to the stage. Brynn blushes and stands, smoothing out her skirt. "I'll be right back."

Emmy watches, intrigued, as Brynn walks up to the guitarist. He leans down to talk in her ear and she smiles, nodding her head. Emmy forces herself to look away when Calum kisses her friend soundly.

She spies the other guitarist, his bright red hair catching her attention. "Wait," she says to no one, the other ladies focused on their dates. "I know him."

He's Mike007, one of the frequent gamers at her shop. She only knows his screen name; he was one of the ones disappointed when she had to call him and tell him Prime Velocity Redux wasn't available just yet. "Mike007?" 

Emmy can't explain it, can't explain why she's on her feet and walking towards the red-haired kid, but she is. "Don't I know you?"

He smiles, recognizing her. "Hey! Yeah? Grounds and Games, right?"

Emmy nods. "Yeah, those are my stores," she says with an ounce of pride. "I didn't know you were in a band."

He looks around. "Yeah. We've been together for a bit. I'm Michael," he says, sticking his hand out, pushing his guitar to the side to shake her hand.

"Emmy. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Michael smiles and Emmy feels hot. "So, um, you know these girls?"

Emmy nods. "Brynn's a good friend of mine."

"I've heard a lot about her lately," he laughs, and Emmy might break a sweat. "Why don't you hang out after the show? Maybe we can talk games or something."

"Yeah, sure," she agrees, shuffling back to her seat. She feels her cheeks - hot - much like the rest of her.

The band starts and Emmy is immediately swept away, bouncing along to the music, truly enjoying it, even if they are mostly songs she hasn't heard before. The boys have this _energy_ ; they are almost hypnotic as they bounce around the stage. There is quite a crowd, mostly younger girls who are crowding the stage; Emmy and the ladies are content in their seats off to the right of the stage. 

It doesn't take long for Emmy to see that while the girls in the crowd have heart-eyes for these boys-- the boys most definitely have eyes for this table. She swears she sees Brynn and Finley swoon a little when the boys (because that's what they are - _boys_ ) sing some song called Greenlight. 

"Okay, B. What's the deal," Emmy asks between songs. 

"Deal with what?" Brynn smiles, her eyes never leaving Calum's.

"What's the deal with that song? You and Finley looked like you were about to fall out of your chairs."

Brynn grabs a beer and looks at her friend. "So," she starts, flipping her hair. "The boys write most of their songs. That one was a new one," she explains. "Cal and Luke wrote it last week. It's their first time playing it." The blush is back, and now Emmy can see why.

They may be young, but they write songs much older and, _ahem_ , experienced than Emmy knows she was at that age. The night continues on, the alcohol flowing freely as the ladies volunteer information about the songs when they know it. When the boys take their bow, they hop off the stage and greet their fans, taking pictures and generally enjoying the experience.

Emmy can't take her eyes off of Michael. He made goofy faces all night, especially when he sang, but she has to admit, his gravelly voice might've made her tingle a little. She loved watching him move around the stage, interacting with the other boys, just as she enjoys watching him now.

Finally the boys make their way to the table, hugging the ladies and laughing about being sweaty. "Good show, Mike007," Emmy grins. 

"Thanks," he says. "Hug me so we don't look all left out. All these assholes have girlfriends now and I'm all alone," he pretend sobs and Emmy pats him on the back.

She is not prepared to feel Michael pressed up against her, sweaty, muscular and _Christ, he's so hard_. Like, everywhere hard. Emmy gasps in pleasant surprise when Michael kisses her on the cheek.

“So,” Michael says, pulling away, glancing at his bandmates to see they’re all still loved up with their girlfriends. He rolls his eyes and Emmy giggles. “Did you enjoy the show?” Shots make their way to the table, everyone taking one to celebrate.

They fall into an easy conversation; any time Michael gets excited about a topic, he tends to ramble; Emmy finds his enthusiasm contagious. She finds herself talking more than she normally does, the alcohol a clear enabler, but it’s okay. She’s comfortable talking to him, the guitarist with the bright red hair and green eyes and pouty lips and -

Whoa.

For a moment, she can’t do anything but stare at his lips. Mike swallows another shot and for a second, Emmy thinks she's going to have to lick his lips for him. Obscene. _Shit! He’s just a kid! Get it together._

“Guys! Let’s load up and go somewhere else,” Ashton stands, a big smile on his face. Emmy grins as he pulls Delia to her feet, throwing his arm around her shoulder.

“We can go back to my place,” Finley suggests. “I’ve got a pool and a hot tub,” she shrugs.

Michael tugs on Emmy’s hand, pulling her close to him so he can whisper in her ear. “Are you gonna go?”

Emmy looks between the ladies, not comfortable enough to call any of them but Brynn a friend at this point. She leans over to her friend. “B? Are you going to go?”

And then Emmy giggles. She realizes how silly this all is - nearly thirty years old, afraid to go somewhere with a _boy_ (because, despite him showing her his license earlier and proving his age, he really is still a boy to her), checking with her friends to make sure everyone is going to go before she decides her own plans. She sees Brynn nod out of the corner of her eye and she turns back to Michael.

“I’m in.”

She repeats this phrase, albeit under different circumstances, some 60-odd minutes later, her legs hanging over the edge of Finley’s pool, Michael’s hand wrapped around her ankle. “I’m in, see,” she says, kicking her foot for good measure. “Michael, don’t,” she warns.

She didn’t mean to be, but she feels like a prude, the only one sitting out of the impromptu pool party. The boys are in various stage of undress and in the water within seconds of their arrival; the girls take a bit more coaxing, but they're in - Brynn borrowing a suit from Finley; Finley, obviously, in her own house, wearing her own suit; and Delia in the t-shirt Ashton threw off earlier. 

“Seriously, you should get in,” Michael says, his fingers tapping against her ankle. 

“I am in,” she repeats again. “What happens if I don’t,” she challenges, eyebrow raised. “What if this is all I’m willing to give?”

Michael’s eyes widen before he chuckles, stepping closer to her, pressing up against her legs. “Then I guess that’s what I’ll have to take. For now,” he smiles before swimming off to find his friends. The boys splash, wrestle, carry on, causing a complete tidal wave at one point. During the madness, the ladies retreat to Finley’s patio where they continue to drink wine and listen to music. It’s late - or early, depending on how you view things - Emmy wonders how much longer the boys will go. 

She stares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, noticing the pink on her cheeks despite the fact that there’s no sun outside. She messes with her hair, trying to flatten it out some before returning to Finley’s patio. When she steps outside, she notices that all of the seats are taken. Luke is laying on a lounge chair with Finley beside him, Calum and Brynn are cuddled up together on the couch. Ashton has Delia in his lap in one chair and Mike is sitting with a bored look on his face in the other chair.

As soon as he sees her, Michael jumps up, a smile suddenly crossing his features. “Thank God, I thought you left me here in my own episode of ‘Dating Naked’ or something!” Emmy laughs and allows him to take her hand. He walks them back over to the hot tub, the one that spills into Finley’s pool. “I swear if I had sat there any longer, I was about to see some cock, and the only cock I feel like paying any mind to is my own, thank you,” Michael says quietly and Emmy snorts. “I’m not kidding, Emmy.”

She puts her hands up in protest. “I didn’t say anything at all. I’m sure your cock is very important.” 

Fucking wine. Erases her filter every time. This is why she drinks beer. She loves beer, beer is great - beer doesn’t have her saying things that could possibly get her arrested. Wine on the other hand? Wine is like her kryptonite - the thing that eliminates her reservations. And, by last estimate, she’s had at least a bottle to herself since they got to Finley's.

Michael stops when they approach the hot tub, eyebrow arched, light from the patio glinting off his piercing. “Oh yes, my cock is _very_ important,” he chuckles. “Are you sure you don’t want to get in?” He climbs on the ledge and swings his legs over, turning his back to Emmy.

She pulls on her t-shirt and fidgets with her skirt. “If I get in, and this gets wet, then I don’t have anything to wear home,” considering for a moment that maybe she’d like to get in. She _does_ like hot water, baths and whirlpools all around in general. She dips her fingers in and is immediately rewarded by the warmth.

Her fingers aren’t the only things damp and warm when Michael sits back on the seat, arms outstretched along the edge of the hot tub. _Shit._ “Did you just moan?"

She shakes her head because no, she absolutely did not just moan. “No?”

Michael laughs again. “Just get in. I won’t look if you want to take something off, I promise.”

“But,” she starts to protest before Michael stands up and turns back to face her, leaning in close. 

“But nothing. Take off your clothes and get in the hot tub, Emmy.”

She stands stock still, trembling, watching as the water drips down his chest. 

“Do you need some help?” Michael reaches for the hem of her t-shirt with a smirk on his face when she snaps out of her trance and takes a step back. 

“I’ll do it! I can do it myself,” she says, putting one hand out and pushing on his chest. Shit. Now he’s hard _and_ wet. _Shit._ “Turn around.” She waves one finger in a circle and waits for him to turn.

He doesn’t. Instead he puts one of his hands over his eyes, spreading the fingers just wide enough that Emmy knows he can see through the slits he’s created. She gives him her best attempt at a glare before she turns around. Two can play at that game.

She takes her shirt off, tossing it to a dry area on the deck. She steps out of her skirt next, tossing it somewhere in the general direction of her shirt. She thinks. She knows full well Michael can see her, so she counts to three before turning around and stepping on the ledge so she can step into the water. Michael follows her and turns around at the same time, sitting down on the bench.

“You have Stitch panties on? Are you kidding me?” Michael deadpans, a hint of a smile playing at his full lips. Emmy laughs and shakes her head as she gently steps down, arm automatically crossing over her breasts despite her bra.

“No joke. I own cartoon panties.” 

“Marry me.” Michael jokes, acting as if he’s on one knee and reaching for her hand, pulling it away from her breasts. “Shit,” he says under his breath, the puff of air so close, bringing her nipples to hard, sensitive peaks within a matter of seconds. 

Emmy scoots back, trying to ignore the jolt she feels through her system. She backs up against the seat and plops down, legs kicking outward with the thrust of the jets. Michael's back in his seat, and she feels her foot brush against what she _thinks_ is his leg. A moment later, she feels his fingers wrap around her ankle. "Come sit over here by me. I don't bite," he smirks, giving her leg a little tug. "You're too far away and I want to talk to you," he pouts, sticking his lip out and Emmy feels her resolve weaken.

It _is_ hard to hear him over the noise of the jacuzzi, she reasons, scooting a bit closer to Michael- just close enough that his fingertips can reach her shoulders. His fingers tighten on her shoulder, urging her closer. 

"Hey, um, I thought y'all might need these," Finley says quietly, startling them both, Michael's hand disappearing from her shoulder. Emmy turns to find Finley holding a bottle of wine and two tumblers. Luke is standing behind her with two beach towels and a smirk on his face. They sit everything down within reach and go back to the patio.

"Were they checking on us or something?" Emmy giggles, watching Michael pour the wine into their glasses. He looks up, handing her a drink.

"She's nosy, that one. Looks like Ashton and Dee are gone," he squints. "Yeah... your friend is still here, but she looks a little preoccupied." Michael chuckles lowly, his tone making Emmy resist the urge to turn around. "So, cheers. Let's get drunk!"

They clink their glasses together and settle back down into the water. "This feels amazing," Emmy sighs, her head lolling back against Michael's arm. "After today's shitstorm, this was exactly what I needed. Music, alcohol and hot water."

"Okay, now I'm feeling left out," Michael teases, eyebrow arched, and suddenly all Emmy can focus on is his piercing. Her finger reaches up to touch, gently stroking his forehead and the small metal rod through his brow. Michael closes his eyes and groans, his hands going under the water, one wrapping around her hip, pulling her closer infinitesimally. 

"You like that?" Emmy's whisper comes out past tease-part surprise, what with the way Michael seems to melt under her touch. Her finger traces down his cheek, over his throat, finally resting on his shoulder. She gives in, letting Michael pull her up flush to him, her thigh smushed up against him, water swirling all around them.

"Emmy," Michael warns, his eyes boring into hers. "You're playing with fire right now."

She grabs her wine glass, finishing off the contents quickly. She glances up at the patio, shocked to see - well - _things_ she's just not used to seeing if not on Cinemax After Dark. "Are they...?" 

Michael chuckles quietly, his hand tightening on her. "Looks like it." 

Emmy nods, a certain tingling developing in her core. 

"Are you turned on by that? By them?" 

Her eyes close, her nipples harden, because yes, she is so turned on. Michael stands suddenly, moving to a different seat, pulling Emmy along with him and she floats until she is standing facing him. She pulls Michael's hands up, out of the water, placing them on her breasts, her own fingers tracing over the hardened peaks. 

His eyebrows arch up in surprise, but the look on her face sobers him. "Can I?" She nods, turning to putty in his hands, letting him take control however he wants. "Your friend looks pretty when she comes," he says quietly in her ear, his fingers taking the place of hers on her nipples. "I have a feeling you've got her beat, though." Emmy's legs start to tremble and Michael pulls her into his lap. "Think you can stay quiet?" he challenges.

She resists the urge to look over her shoulder, to see what exactly is happening on the patio. She has a good idea, Luke and Finley and Calum and Brynn, and - _oh._ "Michael, yes," she moans, his tongue flicking over her cloth-covered nipple. 

"Shh, Em," he chides. "I told you, you have to be quiet." His hips raise up and Emmy instinctively grinds down, rubbing against his hard cock. " _Fuck_ ," he whispers, letting her slide against his length. Emmy braces her hands on either side of his head, giving her the leverage she needs. "You like that, huh? God, Emmy, you're so hot," he babbles, watching her basically ride him.

"Shh," she whispers back, slowing her movements, because _hello, he's just a kid, she's in someone else's pool, her friends are doing some freaky shit just feet away, and-_

"I'm not a fucking kid, she's got a good pool service, and why should they have all the fun?" Michael whispers in her ear, fingers tweaking her nipple for good measure. He leans back to smile at her nervously. "Okay?" She nods, closing the distance, totally hypnotized now, closing her mouth over his. With that, it's like the dam breaks, Michael thrusting his tongue in her mouth, teasing her, tasting her. "Fucking finally," he groans, as one of Emmy's hands wraps around the base of his neck. "Turn around."

Emmy does as she's told, situating herself so she is sitting between his thighs, her ass rubbing up against his cock. When she looks up, she can see the scene on the patio, and _holy HELL, what are they all doing?_ Michael keeps one hand on her breast, and she wiggles as she feels his other hand slide down her stomach, fingers dipping under the waistband of her panties. Michael stills. "Still okay?"

Emmy covers his hand with hers and pushes it down. "Don't stop, Michael, please." Jesus, she sounds so _needy_. His fingers inch downward, skimming over her clit, teasing her.

"Remember, you have to stay quiet, Emmy. Don't want everyone to know what's going on, do you?" Emmy tries, she does, to stop moving, to stop shifting her hips so Michael's fingers line up with her clit and apply magical pressure. He teases her pussy, fingers rubbing her lips, one slipping inside before he pulls it back out. "Or maybe you do want them to see?"

Emmy shifts her hips again, trying desperately to find the friction she craves. "I don't care," she says, tipping her head forward. "I don't care," she whines louder, her ass pressed into his cock. As soon as she makes contact, Michael moans in her ear, his finger slipping back inside her. He grabs onto her breast, pulling the cup of her bra down and pinching her nipple. The water bubbles over her breasts, tickling her nipples under Michael's touch. " _Fuck_ ," she moans, bearing down on his hand.

Michael reads her cues, adding a finger, curling them against her walls, his thumb massaging her clit. "That's it," he says, tongue flicking out to lick a spot under her ear. He sucks lightly, careful not to leave a mark, although at this point, Emmy isn't sure she'd care. She reaches behind her, cupping Michael over his boxer briefs. She strokes him as he pumps his fingers in and out, his other hand pinching her nipples in earnest. "Come for me."

Michael's hips rock into her hand just as he flicks his thumb over her clit and she gasps at the warmth coiling inside her. When he sucks on her earlobe and moans, Emmy shatters, hips rocking in his lap, hand pressing down on his cock. She turns her head to the side and meets him, one of his hands cupping her jaw and pulling her closer. She floats around to the side so she can kiss him better and now, all she wants to do is get out of the damn hot tub. "Mike? Can we? Where can we?"

Michael looks to the patio. "Well, there's an empty chair, or we can ditch them and go somewhere else?"

Her office at Grounds and Games has always been just a space for Emmy, a functional place despite the long hours she's used to spending there. However, after being fucked on top of her desk by Mike007, she'll never quite look at it the same. She glances at the notepads on her desk and picks up a pen.

First order of business on Monday is ordering a nice couch and some comfortable pillows. 

The second order of business is having Michael over to her place for some video games. And maybe some more sex, too. Yes, that sounds like a great idea. 

Third order of business is calling Brynn to find out what the fuck was actually happening on Finley's patio.

The fourth and final order of business will definitely be more sex with Michael. He may be young and goofy at times, but he does this _thing_ with his tongue...


End file.
